


My Touch, Your Touch

by TheRainbowFox



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Desire, F/F, Fantasizing, Gratuitous Smut, Imagination, Masturbation, Secret Crush, Self-Discovery, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Fantasy, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-12 10:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19567945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRainbowFox/pseuds/TheRainbowFox
Summary: The Doctor and Yaz...neither of them have had any quiet time to themselves since crossing paths. As they manage to break away, even for a moment, each of them take time to indulge their baser needs.





	1. My Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I have a lot of fluff out of the way to last quite a while, time to bring out some adult work.  
> This has been on my mind for ages, as there is a very big lack of self-centered one-sided smut.  
> Now, this does leave open the possibility for a third installment, but that won't be on the cards unless asked for after the second chapter.
> 
> Otherwise, I am working on three seperate things;  
> An AU (big project), a oneshot Thorsair (thirteen/corsair) smut and either a sequel to the Heist AU or another standalone  
> Either way, I hope you enjoy!

She could feel it, in the pit of her stomach. It was fluttering around, travelling up her arms and sending tingles down her spine. The Doctor hadn’t thought about it much at all since her regeneration, there was too much going on and too much to see and do with her fam. Sometimes it would strike her in the worst moments, and she would have to push the sensations away. It had struck her aboard the Tsuranga, underneath the anxiety and panic over the Pting and keeping Yaz safe. It had struck during the Witch Trials, non-surprising really considering she had been bound up more times than she could recall in previous lifetimes. It also struck again, the worst of all times, facing down the Dalek alone where her ego inflated and there was nobody around to stop the darker thoughts from seeping in.

The Doctor had taken notice of herself when picking out the clothes in the charity shop, somehow, between the mass throwing out of unsuitable clothes. She noticed the strength in her arms, the curve of her figure, soft hips and stomach. On all accounts, she was a mixture of impressed and reserved. Her choice of clothing had hinged on hiding the femininity she how held. It was easier that way, less bothersome. Hands drew patterns over her milky skin, mapping their way through unfamiliar territory. If she had still been a man, and seen that face looking back at her, then it was no surprise. But as a woman, there was something different. An odd sense of pride, of vanity, and a baser need to explore.

Time had certainly not been kind to her, but as the need for downtime became apparent amongst her companions, the strength of the feelings only grew. How long had it been? Her mind wandered back to encounters long since gone, shuddering at the thoughts presented to her. Far too long. Ryan, Graham and Yaz had asked if she wanted to join in with a board game, not that she could remember which one had been mentioned, but had brushed them off with needing to do maintenance. It was half a lie. Her favourite half lie, because humans had no idea if she was making it up or not. The TARDIS, however, chastised her. Chastised her selfishness. However, it had been ages since she had been selfish, and brushed her off.

Yaz had lingered momentarily longer than the two men, leaving them to set up the whole evening with snacks and other entertainment. She sat on the steps that lead up to the main console, looking over her shoulder towards the Doctor. Under the golden glow of the lighting, the Time Lord had to stop looking at her, the feelings in her stomach only gnawing harder at her. With a farewell, goodbye, whatever, she was off again and the Doctor could heave a sigh of relief as hands braced against the cool metal. Admiring her companions was nothing new, she had done it for countless years. Although it had momentarily caught her off guard, that her only thoughts seemed to focus on Yaz. Not that it was a surprise her tastes stayed the same despite a gender swap, Time Lords had no need for informative labels or whatever else. They found too man things aesthetically pleasing, and it just so happened Yaz fell into that bracket.

She had long, beautifully styled and cared for hair. She had gorgeous dark eyes and dimples when she smiled. Her pear shaped body was dressed up in simple yet eye-catching ways. Yaz was kind, and brave, and strong. Her excitement over the little brilliant moments the Doctor had never went unnoticed by her, and sometimes she wondered if there was even the faintest glimmer of a chance. Her eyes closed and she let the memories wash over her, bringing forth a tidal wave of new and complicated feelings that only seemed to stoke the fire she had been ignoring for a considerable amount of time. It burned through her veins, quickening her heart and raising her body temperature until a flush was forming over her cheekbones.

There was nothing wrong in self-indulgence. It was part of her nature, if only a very rare passing fancy. An itch to scratch. An urge to sate. Nobody would disturb her. Hopefully.

She moved to sit on the steps, back facing the console, shielded away from the hallway and anyone daring to pass through. The TARDIS would make sure she was fine, in theory, the thought being passed on regardless. The Doctor let her coat fall from her shoulders, sliding it from underneath her legs and off to one side. Braces snapped down against her hips as a stuttering breath fell from her lips. Everything was new – exciting even – and a fresh wave of nerves came over her at the thought of what she was about to do. Fingers gripped and tugged at both of her shirts, bringing them out of close-pressed trousers. Perhaps another time, she would remove everything, but for now was content with hiding away. She slipped underneath the shirts, hands ghosting over her stomach, feeling it shudder against her touch. It felt strange, foreign, not like the sensations were her own. The Doctor pictured an imaginary, unknown stranger’s hands in place of her own, back arching slightly.

Her clothes were restrictive, much too so, but as her fingers found the elastic band that held her sports bra close and pushed through the barrier…they no longer mattered. For all intents and purposes, it was the first time she had touched her own breasts. She had merely looked at them in the mirror after her regeneration and thought nothing more of them. Originally a nuisance needing to be caged, she was ruing the day she was convinced to wear a bra of any kind. They were just the right size for her hands, soft and supple. They responded eagerly to her palms grazing over her areola, fingertips inching up to trace the underside of her collarbones. The Doctor held back a groan, residing herself to a shudder. Hands moved back down, catching over now prominent and waiting nipples. Eyes closed and mouth dropped slightly as a low sigh took place of the reserved groan. In the back of her mind, memories of previous encountered surfaced; she remembered his own hands mapping similar paths across the women underneath him. Her breasts were much more sensitive, back arching again as she gently squeezed.

The fluttering in her stomach spread down, bringing along the heat, travelling across her hips and down her thighs. An ache made itself known between her legs, one that towed the line between familiarity and newness. Struggling with the fabric in her way, the Doctor managed to push the sports bra further up her chest, freeing her breasts to drop slightly. Thumbs moved to draw circles around her nipples, sometimes adding in pressure to push and flick against them. Briefly, the imaginary second party took the form of Yaz, and the Doctor had to bite down on her lip to force the image away. She was not about to start fantasizing. It was wrong and inappropriate, even if that brief flash made her wonder how her hands would feel against her now burning skin. One hand pulled away, shifting to grip against the illuminated steps for balance. With the extra stability, the Doctor leant back slightly, pressing her thighs together and letting out another sigh.

As the dull ache between her legs grew more pronounced, the Doctor swore it felt as if her clothes were sticking to her skin. She could feel them existing, the tight band of her shorts digging into her hip bones and clinging to the inside of her thighs. Right hand gave a final squeeze, inching her nipple between two fingers and tugging gently. Stars, it felt too good. Fingers moved down her side and nails scratched into her skin. Legs clamped together harder as her head fell back slightly. The extra sensation coupled with her eyes closed sent her imagination spiralling off out of control again. Hard lines were drawn from hip to hip, fingers curling around the base of the steps in a strong grip. There was a knot beginning to form in her stomach – amongst the fluttering – that was urging her down. She toyed with the waistband on her trousers, catching hold of her underwear occasionally. Unable to slide her hand down further she pulled up and opened her eyes long enough to deal with the moment-breaking zipper and button of her tailored trousers.

If anyone had told her before that being a woman came with a few…advantages, then she would have laughed. But sitting there, on the TARDIS steps, with her hand dipping down past her underwear and her eyes screwing shut again…she was proven wrong.

Soft skin was replaced with the sensation of brushing over fine hairs, course and rough under her fingers. Entirely different to what she had been so accustomed to over time, especially so as there was nothing to stop her from travelling down further. The Doctor had been used to a very prominent point at which her anatomy began, and the many ways to handle it. Now, she was left to her own devices, clinging on to an unknown instinct that let her press into the small mounds of fat that nestled between her legs. She parted her knees, pushed them to the side, gave herself more room to move. The feeling of flesh softer and more pliable than her own breasts was astounding to her. Everything was hot and new, untouched until that very moment. Her fingers ran down one side, brushing her leg, before swapping over to the other to draw back up again. She could feel the perspiration clinging to her, to her clothes, felt a rush whenever her fingers moved.

Leaning more on her free hand, the Doctor tentatively rested the palm of her hand against the firm spot of her pubic bone. Breath caught in her throat as she paused, tension rising as the knot in her stomach coiled ever tighter. She curled her middle finger, pushing it slowly past the folds of her new body until she was met with burning heat and slick against her fingertip. A low moan reverberated through her chest, a shudder wracking her body and temporarily immobilising her. Her mind knew the sensations, but it was different having them as to witnessing them. Slowly, she travelled upwards, parting the way until she pressed against a small nub. Vibrations from the TARDIS mixed in with the sudden electricity of the touch, head rolling to the left and backwards further. Only the Doctor, in her blissfully unaware state, could even entertain the passing thought that self exploration was the same as picking up a guitar. Finding the right notes and sweet spots, alternating pressures and paces, working up to a fine crescendo.

With each tentative stroke, her mouth dropped further, fragmented whispers and moans tumbling in time with her motions. It was awkward, messy, entirely spontaneous…then often, the best things were. She re-positioned her hand to allow her index finger to bring up more of her arousal and coat her clit for smoother movement. In that moment, again the Doctor thought of Yaz, and she was much too close to chase the image away. She imagined her fingers in the place of her own, finding her way through all of her most intimate spots. The Yaz in her mind was hovering over her, whispering nothings into her ear as she moved, telling stories of all the things she would do if given even half the chance. Just the idea of Yaz taking her in the console room was enough to start her hips chasing her fingers. She wanted nothing more than to grab her by the collar of her leather jacket and kiss her, thread her fingers through her hair, snake a hand under her shirt and hold her waist as close to her as possible. She wanted to taste her lips, hear her moan, claim every inch of her.

Her breaths were becoming more erratic as her body felt as if it was lifting from the floor. The sensation in her stomach was winding tighter and tighter, and a brief image of Yaz diving her fingers deep within…sent her tumbling over the edge with a strangled cry. Woe betide anyone who dared wander past, thinking that the Doctor was hurt and in pain, far from it. Her head was swimming with euphoria, hearts pounding in her ears and the faint flutter of spasming muscles danced under her fingers. The rush was nothing like her former selves had felt, it rattled the very fabric of her existence.

Slowly but surely, the high dropped, lowering her back down to reality. Eyes gradually opened, throat dry from a breath she never realised she had held. Her left arm held her steady as her head lolled forwards, hair falling over her face as she looked down at herself. The Doctor withdrew the hand from her trousers and clung to the other side of the steps. It took a moment to breathe properly again, but no worse than being ducked into a freezing lake. As her composure returned, she lifted still wet fingers to the bottom of her white undershirt, gracelessly wiping them against the fabric before taking a moment to gather herself together again, making a note to take more time for herself.


	2. Your Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yaz finds a dream haunting her enough to wake her up and force her to take action, even with her muddled feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, this is where this little story ends  
> Unless you want a third part of these two coming together  
> Comment if you do!
> 
> Secondly, you won't see me around for the next 6 or so days...  
> If I finish anything, it will still be posted  
> Otherwise I just cannot deal with things right now and need to think  
> I will answer any DMs but yeah
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy this Yaz-centric chapter

Yaz tossed and turned in bed, fingers clawing into the underside of her duvet.

She had drifted off to sleep relatively quickly, which was a relief considering the chaotic days that had come before, although her mind was hyper-focused elsewhere. Every once in a while, during their days out saving who-know-what in god-knows-where, she had come to notice little details about her life travelling with her newfound family. Or, more specifically; the Doctor. The Doctor, who had apparently dropped through the roof of the train from above the clouds and crashed into her life. The Doctor, who almost completely disregarded the authority she had held over their first meeting, and yet somehow took it all for herself with exasperated and confused charm. Yaz had noticed a great many things about the alien woman in their time together, things that she had been hiding to herself for much too long. Things she had been deathly afraid of admitting to herself.

Sleep slipped out of her grasp, eyes opening to the dark room and beads of sweat clinging to very inch of her skin. She threw away the duvet to one side, uncurling herself from the damp sheets and sprawling out into the available space. Star-spangled cotton shirt and shorts clung to her just as bad, but as the cool air of the TARDIS hit her, she eventually cooled. All she could see in her mind were flashes of unexplained and heart-racing dreams; of a body pinning her down into the bed, hand slowly travelling across her bare skin. Just the memories alone made her stomach fill with butterflies and another shiver travel up her spine. Burning centred from between her legs and Yaz tried to block it out and repeat a mantra in her mind to urge sleep to come back to her. She was not all that ashamed of her baser needs, it had just been so long since she had felt a touch that was not her own. Even then, there was only one memory to fall back on and it was not entirely the most conductive to helping her in moments of need.

So, she fantasized. Sometimes those involved would have random faces that were pieces together from the countless numbers of people she had met in her life. Other times, they seemed to be more linked to her tastes and whatever she felt she needed at the time. Recently however, there was one thought her mind would consistently harken back to. A person. Someone she knew. Someone entirely off limits that made her heart ache with longing and every moment overanalysed totally unworthy of her times. Yaz would dream of tussled blonde hair sticking out in all directions, of a strong jawline and defined neck, of the most obtuse fashion sense she had ever seen from any other person. Even the mere idea caused her heart rate to pick up again and a quiet groan to fall from her.

All thoughts centred around the Doctor, and it was driving her insane.

As much as she wished it was just a passing infatuation, a fleeting crush, Yaz knew that she had been falling slowly for a very long time. Anything the Doctor said or did, she would hang on. Her face would light up at her ramblings, scientific or otherwise. She would feel a flutter in her chest whenever she received a compliment or praise or points. When the sunlight caught her eyes or the wind to her hair, Yaz would find herself mesmerised by the impossible oldness of her form juxtaposed to the child-like carefree joy. Sure, she had seen the dark edges of the Doctor every once in a while; the harsh bite of words, an endless intimidating stare, the way she would flash her teeth in a twisted grin or how her voice would drop in tone and spark fear in her soul. Even under the façade, she could see parts of the dangerous truth. Something that made the fear turn into weakness and a dash of unfiltered desire.

It was wrong to fall for her, to dream of her, to want her in the most raw form. Yaz tried not to linger in any form of contact, or throw herself in to situations she was not supposed to be in. Except it was all she did, She would do anything to be recognised and acknowledged, to help or to be noticed in some way so that she could just bring out her feelings and then have them quashed and dealt with. There was no possible way that the Doctor would ever like her back, she daren’t even think of love, and so all she had were her impossible fantasies that woke her up in the middle of the night with yearning.

Just this once, she would pay attention to them.

Pushing a strand of hair from out of her face, Yaz stared at the ceiling. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark, meaning she could make out the faint lines of the patchwork metal ceiling. She mentally traced them, following the lines and curves, wishing she could map out something else. Someone else. It was a shame, really, that Yaz knew everything about herself at this point. She knew where to touch, where to squeeze, how hard and how fast. Every once in a while, she would try to change things up, but it felt wrong without someone else there. Anyone at all. Yaz was not secretive about her bisexuality, but with her hyper-fixation currently on one particular blonde alien…right now she felt like labels were useless. Another flash of dream came; an image of the Doctor staring at her with a hardened stare and her bottom lip between her teeth. Hips gently cantered off the bed for a moment as she was reminded of the need calling to her.

Yaz wrapped her hands around the base of her shirt, shifted to sit up briefly, and pulled it over the top of her head. She placed it on top of the discarded duvet, feeling the cold air kiss her sweat-spotted skin. With her head back down on her pillow, she closed her eyes and let her hands wander. They delicately danced over her shoulders and up her neck, tracing the line down to her collarbones. Even there, she could feel the hammering of her heart in her ribcage, and the pressure mounting in her stomach. Fingers ran down the centre of her chest, sweeping around to draw up and down her sides. Each touch made her shiver as she imagined someone else in charge of the situation.

The Doctor.

As the name sounded in her head, hands came to rest on her breasts and palmed at them slowly. Yaz pushed herself further into the bed as her hips rolled for a moment, neck craning as she strained against the pillow. In her minds eye, it was as if the Doctor really was there with her, soft hands and slender fingers working into her with ease. Thumbs rolled over air hardened nipples and caused a high pitched sigh to ring in her ears. Ghosts of kisses lined neck, teeth nipping just below her ear. Oh, how badly she wanted her thoughts to be real. Each stroke caused a fire to start burning inside her body, travelling through her veins and coiling herself up tighter. Left hand pulled away and turned to cling to the bed as her imagination shifted to the Time Lord’s tongue drawing patterns across her skin and lips wrapping themselves around her nipple. She could feel her shorts clinging more, legs twisting and turning in a vain attempt at creating friction.

_‘Someone’s sensitive.’_

Words came into her head, unsolicited, causing Yaz to bite down on her tongue to suppress a moan. Both hands moved in tandem with her imagination to grip her shorts and pull them down. She shimmied them off her legs, hips twitching as she soon turned her attention to the lace bordering the top of her underwear. They clung to her skin even as she tugged them down, soon somewhere else with her shorts. More often than not, she simply resorted to nothing more than a hand down the front of her trousers, but with the mental image strong in her mind she was determined to live things out as close as possible. Hands moved across the outside of her calves an thighs, briefly resting on her hips before shifting to stroke the inside skin. Just brushing past the juncture of her thighs, she could feel the heat radiating from her own body.

_‘I wonder how you feel.’_

Hips bucked again as her fingers slid up her thighs and did everything possible to avoid the place where the burning and the aching emanated from.

_The Doctor moved down, smile on her face, gently urging her knees further apart._

Her chest tightened and mouth fell open again as her right hand braved to dip down and break apart the tension. Fingers slid upwards with ease, tips coated with the slick heat of her arousal. Slow circles rounded her clit with ease, drawing out pants and sighs. Yaz could see the Doctor doing just that, feeling the sensations as if they were her own fingers. The thought alone was enough to tip her over the edge, but she wanted to keep drawing the moment out. Taunting herself, Yaz pulled her hand away, hips chasing after the contact in instinct as the knot wound so close to breaking. Left hand detangled itself from clawing at her thigh to follow a similar pattern through her folds. However, this time, one finger effortlessly slid up between her walls and pressed with a crooked motion.

_‘Oh Yaz, if I’d’ve known you’d be this wet for me I would’ve done this sooner.’_

She gasped as the single digit withdrew and thrust back in. Her motions were slow at first, bringing the precipice back up until a second finger joined in along side the rolling of her hips. It was a rare occasion where Yaz felt the need to delve deep, the pure heady lust needed to break into herself, but to her it was to keep up the illusion. The Doctor was there, she was the one in control, the one driving her fingers inside of her. She was the one who was hitting every single note of pleasure that was driving her insane. She was the one who was laying kisses across her stomach until blonde hair tickled her thighs and lips travelled even further south. Right hand returned to its previous spot of paying attention to her aching clit as the image of the Time Lord dragging her tongue over it caused her to arch off the bed.

Fingers worked together, moving hard and fast as Yaz found herself completely zoning out of reality to focus on the images inside her head. She would look down and see the Doctor nestled between her thighs, watched her shoulders moved as her arm drove her forward and her mouth drank in all of her. Taking in lungfuls of air rapidly between moans, the slick and obscene sounds continued as the waves of heat and tight knot wound even tighter. When her hips lifted off the bed and she put every ounce of strength into the in-and-out of her fingers, one final thought cut through the tension inside her.

_‘I love you.’_

A silent scream came from her open mouth as hard-hitting waves of pleasure crashed through her. Yaz continued to work through the spasms, drawing out every second of the overwhelming sensations. As lust quickly turned to oversensitivity, she pulled her hands away and collapsed back into the sheets with a long sigh. She felt like she was floating on air, or down a river, or lost somewhere in the vacuum of space. Limbs tingled with electricity as small aftershocks made themselves known. The moment slowly faded away into obscurity, cognitive abilities and the drive to breathe kicked in once more. Eyes opened to the world, half expecting a mass of blonde hair or hazel-green eyes; but neither of those were there. Instead, she was greeted with darkness until her eyes adjusted back to the ceiling. Letting out several short breaths, Yaz found her mind quickly turning back to what had just transpired.

She had dreamt about the Doctor, fantasized about her even.

With a tired groan, and lacking any ability to even consider getting back into her nightwear again, Yaz fumbled around until all items of clothing were discarded on the floor and she was safely wrapped up in the duvet once more. She cared not for the new layer of sweat on her skin, or the pounding of her heart, or the strange feeling of contentedness. All Yaz cared about was how she had crossed an imaginary line that was almost certainly off limits for friends; and remembered that that was all they were to each other. Her moment of passion was soon tainted by sadness once more, fingers curling tighter into the duvet as she tried to stop tears from welling in her eyes. Sleep came soon after, the only respite from her traitorous heart and complicated feelings.


End file.
